Some dreams are made of flesh
by Ditesco-Mori
Summary: Hitomi’s grief lies in the fact of the uncertainty of not knowing how to discern between reality and her dreams that feel so real…


Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne, or any of the characters named in this work.

_Man dreams whatever he be,  
And his own dream no man knows.  
And I too dream and behold,  
I dream I am bound with chains,  
And I dreamed that these present pains  
Were fortunate ways of old.  
What is life? a tale that is told;  
What is life? a frenzy extreme,  
A shadow of things that seem;  
And the greatest good is but small,  
That all life is a dream to all,  
And that dreams themselves are a dream._

_Excerpt from **Life is a Dream, **_**_Segismundo's monologue._**_ Pedro Calderón de la Barca. _

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Once more ten extremities, elongations of the hand, came to prove to her it was sand she stood upon; its arenaceous texture crawled amongst every single curve of the skin, exfoliating the surface of the palms in its quick descent back to the enormous sea of auburn battling the unfathomable bedspread of blue before her. Grain by grain it would fall, weaving a cascading veil that would waltz at the compass of the wind. So subtle in its notes, that every tress of hair entwined with the particles of oxygen and other elements would faintly move. A whisper perhaps, tailored in our most common knowledge and nature. 

Barefoot, every single time she took one step forward and into the sea, standing on the limbo of the water and soil. It was always the right foot the one that took the initiative, submerging its five digits into the cool waves of the ocean that ghastly came to caress the sand, before drifting back and join the rest. Regardless of the density the sun above shone with, her face lingered pristine, decanted of any sweat that would come to perturb the pores of her skin. Maybe it was just the soft murmuring of the wind, that with every come and go gave respite to the surface of the visage. 

She was always wearing shorts in the dream, fabricated with an akin hue of yellow, though much more lighter than the primary shade. Above, a simple white shirt, loosely coming to grip her shoulders and close enough to dance upon her torso with every draft of the wind. 

There was no one except her, and the current elements of nature she came to feel, touch and savor. The latter came to her tongue whenever the ephemeral waves ventured to approach her, just in time to parallel the movements of the zephyrs, colliding into one in order to intrude the privacy of her mouth and force her to taste the saline spirit of the water.

To her, it seemed so perfect. How a painting or a picture was supposed to feel if we could simply devoid these of their ethereal and plastic potency and turn them into a reality. Once the left foot left to linger in the rear was bold enough to counter its analogous limb, eyes were to close and seemingly lift her up from her feet. Then, it would not be moistened flesh toggling between the density of the water and sand, but air the one that trekked across every single gap of the feet, tickling like an infant the nervous terminal that would normally trigger laughter in the most ordinary individuals. Not even the first time, back to the genesis of the dream, she had grown scared of harnessing the feeling of departure from the certainty of the surface. She had allowed those invisible hands to come and whisk her away, away to a land where mathematics were out of order, the most simple equations and formulas of physics could not reach, and even the hunting morality could not make her feel the vaguest sting of regret.

The ecstatic lapse where gravity was defied meant the closure of the dream. She knew such, thus, whenever she sensed she was about to come back down, her eyes opened to the somber chime of the alarm forcing her to reality, and its flow, or they would simply open, knowing there was nothing else left to dream about. Day by day the same activities that a wistful, deceiving smile succeeded in hiding. She had come to master the obscure arts of deception, understanding the many questions a certain gesture was able to prevent if the mouth crooked in a certain way, always wary of not overdoing the sketching of the tiers, because the fakeness would be come to be plastered. Eyebrows were the subsequent elements she had learned to conquer, knowing well that if arched at a certain distance in the shape of a crescent moon, the observer would oversee the smile and focus on her mahogany brows to dispel doubts concerning a particular mood.

This time, unlike all of the others, her eyes did not open. Everything was new, something never experienced by her senses. It was still the same beach, the same ocean and the same trekking clouds against the canvas of azure with trinkets of scintilla from the sun. She descended once more upon the sand, tips of fingers testing the ground before the whole feet established. Her vision had been obstructed by something. It was not some indefinite darkness, but the contrary, a blinding light that managed to pierce through the skin draping her eyes. The tissue on her face, and the zones where no clothe covered came to feel the consistency of the chamber that refrained any source of entering naturally, and not diffused like it currently did. Sightless as her current state was, one hand soared to reach to the walls of her prison, limits of fingers tasting the surface. First came a silken perception of the material, morphing into a the sensation of a cotton-like observation. Her relation came to shatter seconds later, realizing her thesis could simply not be compared to anything she had come to feel, taste or touch in her whole lifetime. There was also a particular scent unshed by this mantle, by her jail. As if all the scents of roses had come together in this instant just for her, to penetrate her nose and almost sting it with the uncanny yet pleasant scent. Rose, gentian… plums, and other she had previously smelled yet could not recognize at the lack of a name.

Her vision was obstructed by the eternity of seconds, and during this time, her head came to lean against the soft walls of the prison, haphazard exhalations of bliss coming to be released. Slowly, actions almost unperceivable for her, the walls were dispersed, changing to mold something her mind could have not ever thought of. The imprisonment had been nothing but a couple of winds that currently spread horizontally, retuning her view to her. That very moment, the scent of flowers imploded and disappeared like it had come, vanishing into thin air, coming to be subjugated by a scent she knew well. One she had never dared to forget. 

_"Van!" _

She called for, receiving no answer other than a blow of the wind that came to stroke her face. Reluctantly, she turned her head to the other side, deflecting vaguely the direction of the air.

_"Van!!" _

The call was repeated. Her voice much more clearer than before, but in the effort had submerged the voice into the air, making it nothing but the silent movement of her lips attempting to construct the name. In hatred, the answer had turned evanescent and joined the wind, penalizing her ways with a stronger waft that took her off balance and left her to lie in the sands, eyes shut in fright, not knowing what to expect when they would open. Still, reluctantly, one eyelid withdrew and entered to her view the vista. The small peek enabled her to come to witness the swift alterations of stars. There was no more the incandescent, enormous star the one that governed the heavens. Instead, it seemed this had fractured into a million shards that glinted vaguely against the negritude caused by the explosion. 

Once she had come to prove there was no demon she needed to be afraid of, or something of the sort, boldly the other eyelid retreated in order to scrutinize the silhouette that stood before her. There he was, donning that crimson shirt and loose white counter pants below. The silken mane poised obliquely across his face, covering one eye. Lips… those rims glinted vaguely by the work of the fluids of the mouth and ghastly light of the stars. He looked like what he truly was… a prince coming to her rescue in the time of need, offering his protection. His left hand was stretched out, offering aid for her to get up. She accepted the hand, and such strength was devoted to the gesture, that the motion seemingly turned into a haul that drove her to his arms.

"I…" She started, unsure of what to see. Silence was comfortable enough for her, the waves fitting the perfect score for this meeting of fiction. 

"Shhh." He came into her aid, refraining her to speak anything else for at least this moment. 

"Van, I miss you too much." The confession only made her dig deeper into the hold, and arms welcomed this freely, tightening around the back protectively. Also, the utilization of the present tense, indicating the longing and grief was far from ceasing. "I wanted to see you. I called out for you, and you wouldn't come." Some words out of the sentence had turned slightly tremulous. 

There was nothing he could excuse himself with, other than the well known reason of why they could not be together like two proper lovers. Call it unfair, or a sick joke on Fortune's providence, but some bonds were not meant to be tied. His excuse came in the form of a stroking hand across the tresses of her mahogany hair. It was much more different that last time. He wondered for just a fraction of a second if she had deliberately allowed it to grow, out of the shape he had come to appreciate and memorize. The thought was hasty to escape his mind, focusing on more important subjects. 

She was the first one that broke the hold, looking intently into the contrasting hue of his eye, so akin to the waves dying behind him. His hands were upon her shoulder, cupping the blades with five fingers in every side. A million things they could tell them, and yet, everything was left for the bond established by the deadliest weapon of all. The eyes. The couple locked gazes, turning into a rivulet of chaos if someone was to cross the link. 

Then, they both decided to simultaneously break the bridge and soar their gaze to the mantle of darkness above, the starred dome. Her mouth came to crook an scarce inch, localizing two bodied of light whose glint was paired. "You know… they said that stars are our true guardians." She started, not looking away from the night. "That they watch our every step, and are ready to catch us if we fall. Do you believe that's true?" In order to answer, his eyes wandered towards her, "No." The girl, startled by the unexpected answer turned to face him, not before donning ruffled brows. "Why not?" Cue to his answer, the prince spread symbol of bliss on his lips, "Because that is what angels are supposed to do, not stars."

She was at a loss of words. Nothing she could articulate, or even brood upon. He aided her once more, not getting rid of the smile, "Hitomi, I am always watching over you, even though you have not come aware of it. Every single time you have come to stumble, I have broken your fall. I have always done… I always will." Something crossed her heart. She felt it had been an arrow, leaving no trace of blood from the wound. Then she just realized the severity of his words… of how painful they were. Of how they could never be close, with the exception of her dreams.

The hold of the two lovers commenced to disappear. She no longer felt his body close to her, the both inspiring air the other had wasted and transformed. Her nose could no longer smell his scent, and eyes had come to see through him and into the darkness combined with the sea. "No, Van!" She pleaded, eyes at the brinks of tears while his silhouette came to disappear gradually. "Please, don't leave!" Her words disappeared with the flow of the crashing waves, as these went to collide to the beach once more, turning into nothing but a subtle veil of foam. Her weight and knees faltered, sending her to the sand, turning her into a bundle of weeping flesh and bones.

*****

Morning stoke the new day with the cynical and strong bath of rays cooling from the clouds and into the pane of the windows. Outside, the first fauna of the spring sang the small repertory of dialogue in its adequate dialect, only little could understand.

A yawn was the first sound her ears collected from the silence. Deep and loud. Yukari stretched her arms once she had gotten out of the bed and sat next to her friend, who possessed a smile. "Whoa, Hitomi. You're the first person I ever see that wakes up with a smile upon their face." The friend commented while attempting to discard the lethargy of her sleep with the scratch of her head. "Heh. That means you must have had a pretty dream!" Despite the early hour of the morrow, the friend burst into a ghostly chuckle before settling and continuing her words, even preventing Hitomi from speaking forward. "C'mon! Tell me what it was? Did you dream of someone? My aunt once told me in some religions, their deities send angels as emissaries in our dreams to tell something important to some people. I wish I had an angel that visited me every night. Don't you agree, Hitomi?" Another yawn, and the friend was away from the bed, unable to hear Hitomi's silent affirmation. 

"Yeah…" She trailed off, soaring one hand to come and feel a certain rush of blood on her cheeks. 

"Oi, lazy Hitomi! Get up, or we're gonna be late!" The voice called from the bathroom, voice to which Hitomi made sure to answer in a much more lithe tone. She get up from her bed so fast she missed to notice a shard of a wing intrude the room from no apparent spot. The feather simply fell upon the bed, nestling on the pillow. 

******


End file.
